


It's 3 AM; I must be lonely

by neverafuckgiven



Series: The Apartment AU [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Gen, Insomnia, M/M, Nightmares, Pining, Pre-Slash, no beta we die like men, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:01:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22674517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverafuckgiven/pseuds/neverafuckgiven
Summary: Geralt deals with his nightmares by working out and keeping himself busy. Oddly enough, he's never tried songwriting before.*Alternatively titled: Geralt and Jaskier do laundry.Set in my Apartment series.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Apartment AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1631164
Comments: 18
Kudos: 919





	It's 3 AM; I must be lonely

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from a Matchbox Twenty song. 
> 
> Once again, I tried to look this over for mistakes, but I am only human.

It’s laundry day.

Geralt makes his way down to the first floor with his basket of dirty clothes as quietly as he can. It’s early enough that the only person he runs into is Triss, on her way home from her shift at the hospital. She looks exhausted, just nodding as they pass each other. He’s grateful there’s no small talk; it was one of his bad nights, nightmares making sleep seem like a distant memory. After an hour or two of trying, he’d given up and worked out, had sweat out the tension and anxiety with a long session on the punching bag.

But even he can’t go forever and so he’s decided to do laundry. The sun isn’t up yet, not even a hint of color in the sky as he passes by the front windows on his way to the laundry room and only one or two people on the street. It gives the world a quiet, eerie feeling. Well, at least until he gets to the door to the laundry room and hears low singing. He pauses, recognizes the voice. Jaskier. It’s a strange time for him to be awake. 

Geralt sighs. He should go back upstairs. They’ve only been neighbors for a week or so, seen each other in passing after dinner that first night. It’d gone well enough, but he’s sure now that the sheen of mystery has worn off, Jaskier probably isn’t interested. He shakes the feeling off. He’ll just throw the clothes in and go back upstairs. 

He pushes open the door and there Jaskier is, sitting on one of the benches in front of the machines. He’s curled overtop a notebook with one foot propped up on his empty laundry basket. He’s tapping a pen against the side of his head, clearly so engrossed with what he’s working on that he doesn’t realize the washing machine is done. His hair is a mess with parts of it sticking up and he’s wearing black shorts and a shirt that’s a bright shade of pink. The fuzzy slippers on his feet match. For some reason, the sight of him is intimidating; the desire to retreat makes itself known again. All he has to do is put the clothes in and then he can go back upstairs and try to go back to sleep.

Geralt shifts uneasily, unsure whether or not he should announce himself in the meantime. He settles for making his footsteps loud as he moves to the other set of machines. Jaskier jerks his head up as Geralt comes further into the room, sets his basket down on the next bench. 

“Oh!” Jaskier drops the necklace from his mouth and straightens up. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be up this late.” He glances down at his watch and winces. “Or this early. I look terrible.”

“Wasn’t expecting anyone either.” Geralt’s pushing his clothes into the washing machine as casually as he can. “Wouldn’t say you look terrible.” He’s glad he’s facing away when he says it, but Jaskier still hears it and so Geralt turns around to gauge his reaction.

“Well, thank you for that.” Jaskier laughs, patting his hair down. “Very flattering.” He leans back and takes in Geralt’s own outfit. “Somehow I don’t think you picked out that shirt.”

“I didn’t.” It’s the blue one Ciri got him for his birthday, well worn not because of the color, but because it made her smile to see him in it. “It was a gift.”

“They’ve got good taste, whoever they are.” Jaskier's smile doesn't quite reach his eyes and turns into a frown rather quickly when he catches sight of his notebook.

Geralt’s got his clothes started and coughs. “I can go-“

“Oh, you don’t have to! I’m just-“ He sighs heavily, resting his chin on his hand, looking up at Geralt with a pout. “I’m stuck.”

Eyebrows raised, Geralt leans back against the whirring machine. “Stuck?” His eyes flicker to the notebook in Jaskier’s notebook. 

“I’m working on lyrics and nothing sounds right. I have the melody and the chorus, but-“ He groans. “I’m tempted to throw myself on the floor and stay there.”

He doesn’t know what strikes him; maybe it’s the insomnia or maybe it’s the frustration on Jaskier’s face, but Geralt folds his arms across his chest and says, “Let me hear it.” The confusion is at least a better look than the frustration. “I’m no artist, but music is music. Maybe it’ll help you think.”

He feels ridiculous now that he’s said it out loud. Jaskier doesn’t want or need his help. His apartment is only a few floors up and he can hear Stregobor and Renfri beckoning him back to the dark.

“That would be wonderful!” Jaskier’s smile is bright and unparalleled; he shoots to his feet and hands Geralt the notebook while he switches his clothes to the dryer. Once he’s done, he takes it back and has a seat on the machine Geralt’s leaning against. “Like I said, I have the chorus, but-“

It’s mostly Jaskier talking, explaining the melody and tone of the song, what he wants it to say, to Geralt, who mostly nods and throws out an idea every once in a while. When Jaskier’s clothes are done, Geralt expects him to go upstairs, but instead he lingers, folding and talking, wrinkling his clothes as he gestures with them in his hands. The whole encounter seems. . .easy. Easier than it has any right to, considering this is only the second time they’ve actually spoken like this. It seems helpful at least; Jaskier jots down a lot of things and gets more excited as things start to click. 

He recognizes time is passing, but doesn’t quite realize how much until Vesemir opens the door and ducks his head in. “Jaskier! I’ve made coffee if-“ He blinks once, then twice, when he sees that there’s another person. “Geralt! This is a surprise.” 

Geralt freezes, feels guilty like he’s been caught doing something untoward. Jaskier’s back to sitting on the machine he’s standing next to and when he glances to look at him, Jaskier’s face is almost as pink as his shirt. He’s suddenly very aware of how little space is between them, how the closed door makes the situation seem worse (he doesn’t remember closing it; maybe it wasn’t a conscious decision to shut the rest of the world out so it was just the two of them). He clears his throat. He should explain before Vesemir says something and makes Jaskier uncomfortable around Geralt.

“Good morning!” Jaskier hops down, tucking his notebook into his laundry basket. “We were just working on lyrics for my next masterpiece!”

“Geralt.” Vesemir frowns. “Geralt was helping you. With music.”

“Yes, he has quite a knack for it.” Jaskier winks back at Geralt. 

“Well. There’s coffee. Help yourselves.” Vesemir departs, leaving the door cracked open behind him, and Geralt stares at the sunlight peaking through. Had they really been talking that long?

“This reminds me of how my parents walked in on me and Amrynn Tulle back in high school.” Jaskier mumbles under his breath and Geralt’s heart lodges itself in his throat.

Ah. A girlfriend. It’s a subtle and gentle way of correcting any misunderstanding he might have had. Jaskier isn’t interested, but he’s not being cruel about it. It would have been embarrassing if Geralt had made a pass at him. He would have had to work up the courage to do it, of course, but now he doesn’t have to bother with all of the hardship only to get turned down. Geralt’s grateful. 

“I have to go get ready for work!” Jaskier picks up his basket and treats Geralt to another dazzling smile. “Thank you. For your help. I owe you. Dinner tonight? I’m off at 6.”

He should say no. Give himself a little time to get his head on straight. Instead, he nods. 

“Great! I’ll see you at 6:30! It’s casual dress!” Jaskier calls as he leaves. 

Geralt listens to his footsteps as they retreat up the stairs and once they’re gone, he takes a seat on the bench and heaves a shuddering sigh, watching his clothes go round and round in the dryer.

Fuck.

He hides his face in his hands and doesn’t come back out until the machine goes off. He pulls his laundry out, throws it in the basket, and trudges back up the stairs in a daze. There’s more people on the street and the sky is orange and red with the dawn. He can hear movement in the building, alarm clocks going off, showers turning on, and he picks up the pace, making it back to his apartment before he has to face anybody.

Geralt takes his time folding his clothes, trying not to listen to Jaskier sing on the other side of the wall. It’s the song they were working on downstairs and he’s clearly happy with the outcome if the cheery tone is anything to go by. It carries on for a while out Jaskier’s door, through the hallway and down the stairs until finally it’s gone.

He’s at the bottom of the basket and done folding when he finds a scarf that most assuredly isn’t his. He frowns as he picks it up. No, this is a luxurious thing, soft like silk, and Geralt’s almost worried he’s going to ruin it with his rough hands. He catches a hint of the scent coming off of it, honeysuckle and citrus; it’s pleasant enough and obviously clean. Before today, he would have written it off to Ciri leaving something behind, but he’s been close enough to the source of it to know it’s one of Jaskier’s. 

Geralt very deliberately walks into the kitchen and sets it on the counter next to his keys, goes back to his bedroom, making sure to shut the door behind him. He’ll give it back to Jaskier tonight at dinner. Until then, it’ll stay out there. He falls back into bed and starts counting backwards from 500; he gives up halfway through and starts humming Jaskier’s song until he eventually falls asleep. 

This time, he doesn’t dream.

**Author's Note:**

> So in this, Geralt is stil oblivious and doesn't get that bisexuality exists. This is not a one time thing. I am going to go into it in a future fic


End file.
